


see you there

by dearachilles



Series: Bitter Smiles [2]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Anger, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, I'm Sorry, M/M, Rage, Self-Worth Issues, True Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearachilles/pseuds/dearachilles
Summary: Patroclus' death, kind of Achilles' POV. If you feel like cursing at me for writing this, I did too.title and song-Haunt by Bastille
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus
Series: Bitter Smiles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888024
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	see you there

Confusion. Worry. Expectancy. Recognition. Realization. Agony. Anger. Panic. Pain. Denial. Those were what he felt when he saw Patroclus’ body being carried. He recognized his hair, his hands, his nose, his mouth.

**_We'll make our agreements,  
About when to meet,  
And I'll leave you in the doorway,  
The cold evening aches,  
As it leaves in its wake_ **

All he saw was red. Blood red. He doesn’t even remember how he got his armour on until he arrived at the front. He had only one objective. Kill Hector. _“What has Hector done to me?”_ He killed his connection to humanity. He removed the only wall between himself and Achilles. Now Achilles had no reason to remain reasonable, as he felt the rage build up, he could feel the divinity in his blood boil. As he spun the spear in his hands, he felt nothing but joy. He walked through hundreds of soldiers, slashing people without even sparing a glance, spattering blood everywhere, stepping on arms, swords, banners, and broken shields. He didn’t feel even a spike of remorse, they all deserved it. Hector deserved it.

Red, now even a darker red. With the blood stains on his armour and spear, he looked even deadlier than before. He remembered Patroclus’ smile for a second, _his face beaming like the sun_ , then he came back to reality. His lifeless, pale face popped in his mind, and he lost himself again. Of course, no one was there to calm him down. So, he slashed his way through Hector, leaving a heap of soldiers behind. When he found him, he reached clarity. He cleared his mind of all other issues, and focused on killing Hector and only killing him. Hector was a strong man, but no one had ever seen a bloodthirsty Achilles with his full potential unleashed. For the first time in his life, Hector actually feared. The gleam in his eyes wasn’t human. His stance was wide, ready, frighteningly balanced. Hector will never forget the smile when he fell to the ground. He had no mercy. He stabbed him with such power it felt like the ground had moved.

**_And I'm questioning why,  
As you look to the sky,  
That it's cloudless up above our heads,  
And thoughts come to mind,  
That our short little lives,  
Haven't left the path that they will tread,_ **

Everyone thought Achilles recovered. The truth was far from that. He may have kept his guard high when he was in public, but at night he laid next to his decaying body, crying until he fell asleep. _“The sorrow was so large it threatened to tear through my skin. When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.”_ Only Briseis knew his situation. She was also devastated at the news. She had helped Achilles to get through the day. No one noticed the change in him. He was not the peace making warrior anymore. He didn’t smile, the murderous glare became permanent, his spear turned from a walking stick to a spear. The memories of them together never left his eyes, the stories kept him awake for months.

“ _I can’t save them all.”_

Excuses after excuses. Maybe he couldn’t save them all, but he should’ve saved Patroclus. Now with his dearest companion gone, he saw no reason to live. He would only live for one thing: avenging Patroclus. Every battle he rode to, he knew no man. To him, they were all murderers of his mate. Bunch of walking swords, and nothing more. Each city he left, he gained more people who cursed him, for killing their husbands, brothers, families. Colloquial damage, he shrugged. He was nothing but Aristos Achaion, the greatest soldier anyone has ever seen. Nothing but a weapon. When Hector killed Patroclus, he took his grounding from him. Patroclus was his humanity. All the jokes, his humour, fluffy hair, snarky comments, playful training hours, they all made Achilles who he was then. But then, he was gone. Slipped away from him. The first time he cried, when he kneeled in front of his body. The scream he let out echoed through the silent camp, the agonizing silence, the huddle around them made it real. He remembered the time Patroclus agreed to go to Troy with him. _“Will you come with me?” he asked. “Yes,” I whipsered._ _“Yes.”_ His joy could be sensed miles away. Looking back at that day, he wishes he didn’t ask him for such a thing. If he knew what Patroclus would do, he would force him to stay. He was supposed to die first, not him. How could someone bear the weight knowing they are the reason their lover is dead.

_“And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”_

It was. Seeing Patroclus’ broken armour made him vulnerable. He opened himself up to Patroclus only. From the time their eyes met, he fell in love with him. With each step, each little thing Patroclus did, his heart poured open. After he heard the prophecy, he prepared himself for death. He was always prepared, for every instance. Not this. His death caught him off-guard. His walls never closed faster. He became paranoid, attentive, cold. Happiness, such a distant feeling. What a fool he was, to think that he would be the first happy hero. Wandering the world without Patroclus at his side was meaningless.

**_I come back to haunt you,  
Memories will taunt you,  
And I will try to love you,  
It's not like I'm above you,_ **

One nightmare followed another. Them at Chiron’s cave, again under the stars, Patroclus combing his hair, they haunted him. In his spear, he saw Patroclus’ reflection. At his bed, he could feel his warmth, but when he turned around, he was greeted by a cold, empty spot. He tried to walk, he always found himself at the sea. He yelled at his mother, how she could let this happen, why didn’t she intervene, he yelled, he lost his voice soon after. Thetis came once, to comfort her son. It didn’t work. He was so guarded towards others, even his mother couldn’t manage to pacify him. _"Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.”_ Most beloved wasn’t enough to describe Patroclus. Most beloved, most admired, most beautiful, he held him so dearly in his heart, it couldn’t be described by words. As poets said, he **was** half of his soul. When he was with him, he felt complete. He was a monstrosity, a creature neither man nor god. Patroclus didn’t see that. He only saw a naïve, loveable teenager. To him, blood didn’t matter. He saw his soul. He read him like a book. How broken, how guarded, how flawed he actually was, he only showed to Patroclus. And Patroclus embraced him, cradled him, protected him when he collapsed, supported him when he felt like falling. When Agamemnon sent troops to collect Briseis, he shielded both her and Achilles. He was the purest of them all, yet also the bravest. Odysseus later told him how he, without hesitation, wore his breastplate, took Achilles’ spear, and rode to the front. He sacrificed himself for the Greeks. Achilles blamed himself, over and over again. If he weren’t so selfish, or arrogant, his dear would be alive right then.

**_The wisdom we learn as our minds,  
They do burn'll,  
Entice the naivety in youth,  
As adults will grow and maturity shows,  
The terrifying rarity of truth,  
As you turn to your mind,  
And your thoughts they rewind,  
To old happenings and things that are done_ **

Although Patroclus was ashamed of it, Achilles was proud of him. How they first met, after Patroclus was exiled for killing the child. He thought it was poetic, being banished because you defended yourself. Of course, without him getting to the camp, they would’ve never met. It’s fate, nothing else. That night, at the campfire, they talked, talked, and talked. Their friendship was new, but Achilles already knew he could trust him with his life. His smile, his determined look, his-his everything, he was literally perfect in his eyes. Oh the times they ran in the cornfields, mocked the senators after meetings, ate figs and apples without a single concern in their minds. He loved his name. How it slipped through his lips. _“Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.”_ It was heavenly, saying his name. His reaction to him calling him, priceless. The way his eyes shone, his bright white teeth showed behind his lips, his eyes crinkled; he would burn the whole world down if it made Patroclus happy. The war was the worst and best thing to happen to them. Both of them knew nothing would be the same as before, but neither of them expected to see their world turned upside down. While Achilles was out, leading the army, Patroclus was in the camp, treating the wounded. They always thought of each other, whether he was alright, wounded, or tired. _“I would still be with you. But I could sleep outside, so it would not be so obvious. I do not need to attend your councils. I— ''No. The Phthians will not care. And the others can talk all they like. I will still be Aristos Achaion.' Best of the Greeks. 'Your honor could be darkened by it." 'Then it is darkened.' His jaw shot forward, stubborn. 'They are fools if they let my glory rise or fall on this.”_ Everyone in the camp knew they were close, so no one batted an eye when Achilles slipped into Patroclus’ tent every night. Even when they started sharing tents, no one said anything, and Achilles was thankful for that, because he could only sleep when he was with Patroclus. Even if someone did bat an eye, he wouldn’t care. All that mattered to him was Patroclus. They could take everything, his title, his army, his reputation, but not Patroclus. Not him.

**_You can't find what's passed,  
Make that happiness last,  
Seeing from those eyes what you become,  
What you become_ **

They never seemed to acknowledge the fact that Achilles was supposed to die. They both wanted to spend their days together as much as possible. Life seemed to have a different plan. Every night, when Achilles came _home_ , weary and bruised, Patroclus was there; to cheer him up, to tell funny stories from the camp, to kiss him on his forehead and assure everything was going to be alright. It didn’t. Plague hit the camp, affecting the animals, crops, people. Agamemnon was forced to give the priest his daughter back. The tension between Achilles and him was so thick, even Menelaus and Odysseus couldn’t manage to find a middle ground. Before the conflicts could start anything more serious, chaos ensued. Everywhere, there was blood, dust, ash, broken hilts, and metal scraps. Almost like he predicted it, Achilles ordered his men to mingle his and Patroclus’ ashes and bury them together, so they would never be separated, for eternity.

**_I will see you there,  
See you there,  
See you there,  
I'll come back to haunt,  
Memories will taunt you,  
And I will try to love you,  
It's not like I'm above you_ **

The end was inevitable. Every man was doomed to die. Achilles was more than happy to oblige. What he didn’t think of was his son. He had apparently not burnt Patroclus’ body, deeming him unworthy, also forcing his soul to stay. He thought he would see his darling. He didn’t. Every second he waited for him was agonizingly slow. He tried to remember him, his hands, how they traced his body, counted his freckles. He reckoned; it was his time to wait. Patroclus patiently watched him grow, ascend into a legend and now, he had to be patient. Finally, at the end of time, when he saw him, it was worth the wait.

_“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”_

He was gleaming, as always, with a small smile on his face. When they reached each other, everything stilled. It was their moment. He started laughing, an emotional catharsis, and Patroclus held him, also laughing. Everything was alright. It was good.

They were children when they met. They were children when they became friends. They were children when they fell in love. They were teenagers when they died. In the end, they were eternal.


End file.
